


I May Be On The Side Of The Angels

by Devidoodle (MadameDevo)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Angellock, Angst, Crossover, Feels, Fluff, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Tumblr Prompt, Winglock, but it works - Freeform, omg the FEELS, sads, super fluffy, superlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameDevo/pseuds/Devidoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Sherlock really did die when he jumped from St. Barts? </p><p>Where would he go and who would he meet? Perhaps a scruffy angel in a trenchcoat? </p><p>What will he do when Castiel asks for his help to stop the appocalypse, and how will things work out after?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I May Be On The Side Of The Angels

**Author's Note:**

> I OWN NOTHING. And that's all the disclaimer you're gonna get!
> 
>  
> 
> This was a drabble request from l-l0n3ybadger on tumblr. It was for a giveaway I did for reaching 50 followers. 
> 
> Her request was for me to make a Caslock pairing and see how it would work out. To me, I think they would only come together out of a mutual loneliness. If you like it leave a kudo or a comment!

The moment Sherlock saw the ground rising up to meet him, he closed his eyes tight to brace for the pain, but it never came. Instead a feeling of pressure breaking around him, like pressing through a thin sheet of plastic, washed over him, and everything was too bright. He blinked his eyes a few times to clear them, and found himself standing in a familiar dingy room, a woman dressed in an alarming shade of pink lay face down on the ground.

“Brilliant.” His eyes flickered to his side, where John stood, gazing at him in awe. This was their first case together. Sherlock’s eyes squinted in confusion as he looked around. This was strange, and not at all right. He should be dead. The detective moved to grab John’s shoulders, but his fingers met only an icy watery substance that made John’s visage wobble like disturbed liquid.

“Fascinating…” he said to himself. He took a few steps back and John was looking at him with an odd expression.

“Sherlock are you alright?” the doctor asked, moving forward to touch his arm. Suddenly warmth spread through the detective, and all he wanted to do was to continue playing out the scene with this strange version of John. That in itself sent alarms up in his head. He took a step back, John’s hand sliding off of his skin. Odd, Sherlock thought, that this John impostor could touch him, but not the other way around. Turning to get away, he opened the door and made his way hastily down the stairs for the second time in his life. 

The thought struck him so suddenly that he stopped mid step on the stair. Life... He’d jumped off of the top of Saint Barts, there had been no way for him to survive a fall like that. Coupled with the replaying of one of his favorite moments, (secretly of course, it would never do to have told John, it would have gone straight to his head) he now suspected that he was dead, and this was the afterlife. Who knew that it existed after all? He had so many questions now. Was this heaven? Hell? Someplace in between? Perhaps all they really did was exist as an idea, in the memories of others until they were at last forgotten. Perhaps if he exited via the front door, he’d enter another memory. 

That thought in his mind, he rushed down the rest of the stairs and through the door open to find himself walking into their game of Cluedo. 

“SHERLOCK THE VICTIM CAN’T BE THE MURDERER!” John yelled, his hands rubbing over his face exasperatedly, “It’s not possible.” The detective was stopped by a sudden wave of nostalgia. Although he was going to spend the rest of the foreseeable future here in his memories, for the first time since John entered his life, he felt utterly alone. His heart lodged in his throat when the doctor turned and looked at him, like he was expecting a response. Sherlock opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Suddenly there was a sound of wings, and the detective whirled to face a man with an almost manufactured smile. He had bright eyes, his face unshaven and he wore a poorly fitted suit. Frowning Sherlock took in his backwards tie and stained khaki overcoat, and couldn’t imagine how one person could look so disheveled.

“Sherlock Holmes.” The other said, his voice deep and gravelly, “I’ve heard a great deal about you, I should have known that nothing would have changed when you died.” 

“You have me at a disadvantage then. I don’t believe we’ve met.” The detective said, his eyes still cautious. He couldn’t read much about this man, he was almost perfectly deadpanned and the brunette found himself wondering how many years it had taken him to perfect it. 

“My name is Castiel, and I am an angel of the Lord.” His smile then was rehearsed, like he’d been taught to do it by someone else. It reminded Sherlock of his own well rehearsed expressions. 

“An angel of the Lord. You expect me to believe that there is a God in the universe, and that of all his holy host, that you, you are one of them?” He raised an eyebrow, looking over the man once more, “No I think not, You’re hardly the picture of heavenly glory.”

The man’s brows knit together, and suddenly the room darkened, John long gone, and the stormy London weather seeming to invade the normally warm flat. Dark shadows began unfolding around his shoulders until a pair of... what Sherlock could only call wings protruded from his back. The detective looked on in awe and marvelled at them. What was their texture, weight, mass, what were they made of? It looked like pure shadow but that was impossible, then again, so was the concept of the man having wings in the first place. Okay, Sherlock would go along with this.

“So if you’re an angel of the lord, what do you want with me? I haven’t been particularly faithful. Don’t tell me I did something good?”

“You did sacrifice yourself for the life of three of your friends.” 

“That was... That was not...” Sherlock trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“That was selfless, and because of it, you were admitted a place here in heaven. But because of your mind, I’m in a position to offer you a place among the angels. We’re fighting a war, and your intellect could be of great use to us.” 

“You want me to what? Fight demons? I’m not qualified.”

“No, I want you to help myself and two brothers fight Lucifer and stop the apocalypse.” Sherlock’s head snapped back to the angel at that. 

“Lucifer. As in the devil? Uhm... no.” He turned away, hoping this man would leave and he could go back to his memory of Cluedo and exasperating John.

“What if I told you I could take you to see him again?” 

“What did you say?” The detective asked turning back to the taller man. 

“What if I could take you to see Doctor Watson one more time? I can you know, and once our war is over, you can go see him whenever you please. If you join me, I can do that for 

you. If not, well...” He gestured around the room, “Is one year of memories really enough for you for eternity? I have it on good faith that you get rather destructive when you’re  
bored.”

Sherlock frowned and looked around the flat. No, one year of memories was not near enough for him to spend the rest of eternity reliving. The angel was right, he didn’t have any good memories other than John, and if this was heaven, he imagined that those were the only ones there would be for him. “Will it be dangerous?” 

“Yes, the chance of survival is very slim, success even less.”

The detective nodded, “Take me to see him then, but... I don’t want him to see me.”

“That’s easy enough. Come, he’s paying his respects to you as we speak.” The angel reached forward and touched the brunette’s forehead, taking them both to the cemetery where Mycroft had bought their burial plots. Turning, he could see John, just a few short feet away, standing at the foot of his grave. 

“You told me once that you weren’t a hero… um.. there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but, let me tell you this: you were the best man and human… human being that I’ve ever known, and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, that’s… uh. There.” John stopped as if he couldn’t go on, but he did, finally stepping forward and touching the headstone with his fingertips, “I was so alone, and I owe you so much.” He started to walk away, but stopped, and turned back, his mind settled on something else he needed to say.

“Look, please, there’s just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t. Be. Dead.” The last word cracked with emotion, and Sherlock felt his chest tighten, “Would you do that, just for me, just… stop it. Stop this!”

The detective could see the soldier in John, fighting down emotion, telling himself that he had to make it through this, for both their sakes, and for a moment, Sherlock couldn’t cope with the hatred that coursed through himself. He should have been able to find another way. He should have been more clever... He should have - A hand on his shoulder stopped his thoughts.

“There was no way out. I know.” Castiel said, his eyes a little sad, mouth turning down at the corners and brows knitting together, “Your pain, and his, they will not be in vain.” Sherlock turned and watched John go, his face set in a tight frown. 

“What must I do?”

\-------------------------------------------------

Sherlock closed his eyes and grasped the other angel’s presence as he’d come to learn in the passing months. Using the connection every angel had to one another, he pulled with his mind and found himself standing just behind the angel in a trench coat, who was watching as Dean Winchester raked leaves into a pile. It was an odd sight after all the fighting the four of them had done. In the end their efforts had barely seemed to make a difference. Sam had fallen into the pit with Michael and Lucifer, the ultimate problem that he would never tell Castiel he was working on a solution for. Dean had eventually settled down with Lisa and Ben, living every bit of a normal life. 

After almost a year of fighting, this peace seemed odd, but he couldn’t keep himself from being grateful for it. Sighing he stepped forward, his arms crossed, his own ruddy violet wings brushing up against the midnight ones pressed so tightly to Castiel’s back. It was a gesture they had picked up during their battle when they knew the other wasn’t telling the truth about their well being. The touch of their ethereal wings sent a jolt of emotion through the both of them. Cas’s overwhelming longing through the detective, and a sense of concern from Sherlock through the angel beside him. 

“It’s nothing.” The taller brunette replied, “I am just....”  
“Lying to me is a waste of time Castiel, you know that. You can’t lie to me any more than I can to you.” Sherlock tapped out a familiar rhythm on his arm, “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or do I have to deduce it?” 

The detective used his deductions as a last resort. The angel rarely showed the emotion humans did, and his tells were harder to find, but the more time he spent with the angel, the easier it became. He felt the other’s wings shudder as he let out a long sigh.

“He’s so happy, I just thought I would be... happier for him.” The angel finished lamely.

“You wanted him to be happy with you.” It wasn’t a question, and Sherlock kept his face blank as the scruffy brunette turned to look at him.

“That’s... how did you..?” Sherlock only shook his head and pulled something out of the inside breast pocket of his spencer hart. It was a small box with a purple ribbon, the color of the shirt he was wearing. Tied to the box was a card with his name on it. 

“Because Castiel, as much as I like to think we’re different, you and I are very similar.” Castiel took the box and read the back of the card. Because I always wanted you to be my best man. You’ll have a place with me always. - John Inside was a lavender and pale yellow boutonniere tucked underneath Sherlock’s collapsable magnifying glass. 

“I take it you went to see him.” 

“Yes and no. I fully intended to reveal myself to him, but he was at my grave. He was talking to me, confessing really.” Sherlock took a deep breath, shifting his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking as he recounted what he had witnessed, “He’s getting married. In a week, he’ll have a wife. Mary Watson. She’ll make him happy.” 

The angel’s brows were screwed up in his way of expressing sympathy, but the detective pushed on.

“He said he had beaten himself up for months, because he’d never told me-” Sherlock’s voice cracked then and he cleared it, one trembling hand raising to his mouth, betraying the calm he was exuding, “He never told me how much he cared for me before I died. He said he wasn’t sure he could ever truly live again, let alone love, but then Mary fell into his life, and he was totally smitten.”

“Sherlock-”

“He begged me to forgive him, said he was ruining my memory... and I just couldn’t make myself tarnish the happiness I saw in him. I am absolutely selfish, because I wish it were me..But I know it’ll never be, not now.” His fingers pulled at his lips as he thought back on John’s expression as he shed a single tear while placing the box beside his headstone, dropping a chaste kiss on top.

Suddenly warmth flooded through him as the two angels touched wings again, and Castiel’s hand was on his, pulling it away from his face. “I never said our job as angels was easy...” He trailed off, pulling the boutonniere out of the box, and fastening it to Sherlock’s lapel, “But we do have the knowledge that they will be alright always, because we make it so. Because we will protect them.” The taller man finished pinning, saving one of the long pins for himself. 

Dean had bustled off to get the leaf bags, and Castiel stooped to lift a leaf that hadn’t quite lost all it’s life and was still pliable enough to bend. He handed it and the pin to Sherlock who took them, and proceeded to pin it to the messy lapel of his overcoat. 

“A bunch of right saps aren’t we?” Sherlock asked once he’d finished, brushing his fingers over the edge of the foliage. 

“It’s what sets us apart from our enemy. Your support will be insurmountable in the coming times...” His hand lifted, and circled Sherlocks until their fingers laced together. The detective let their eyes meet, and something passed between them. It was more than a mutual loneliness or attempt at comfort, there was an understanding there that far surmounted anything he had ever known before. Here was one cut from the same cloth as himself, even if they were born in two very different ways. 

“I once said I was on the side of the angels, but inferred there was no way I could be one of them... And look at me now, fighting alongside one for the fate of heaven. I would have never imagined...” Their wings brushed once more and again the warmth spread through him, curling in his chest and easing the ache that seeing John had brought.

“My imagination makes me human and makes me a fool; it gives me all the world and exiles me from it. It is good that you never imagined this.” Sherlock tightened his fingers with Castiel’s and gave the angel a small smile.

“God knows I would hate to be labeled a fool.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked that and you have a fic request, send me one at my tumblr!
> 
> devokitsune.tumblr.com
> 
> I'm always up for new prompts and if you like what you see that's a sure fire way to get more!


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